Cogito, Ergo Sum
by le jardin noir
Summary: I think, therefore I am. Sandle.
1. Chapter 1

Cogito, Ergo Sum

I think, therefore I am.

***

Sara Sidle scrunched her eyebrows together. 27 divided by 14. That made a 0.7 to 0.3 ratio of green lights to red lights, and a 66 percentage rate of green. Not bad, she thought to herself, yesterday was only a 52 percentage rate. If Sara's calculations were correct, and she left 4.37 minutes later tomorrow, she should hit 12 percent less red lights.

She smiled smugly as she walked into the crime lab. Today was going to be good.

53 steps from the front door to her locker – 48 if she went the short way, but that meant passing the break room, and Sara didn't want any delays. However, it was five steps less and that meant five seconds less. Five seconds could really add up. The short way it was.

"Hey Sara."

Dammit.

Greg was leaning against the doorway of the break room - arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. His face positively gleaming with curiosity. Don't stop. Just say 'Hello' and walk by.

"Hello."

Sara focused on her steps. 12. 13. 14. Shit.

Greg had moved away from the door and positioned himself directly in front of her. She tried to sidestep him, intent on continuing her journey down the hall. She moved to the left, he followed. She moved to the right, he followed. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"What, Greg?"

He grinned.

"What's the hurry?"

"Don't answer my question with another question," Sara snapped, "and I am not in a hurry."

Yes, ma'am," he said cheekily.

Sara glared.

"And the 'what?' was 'what's the hurry?'."

"Huh?"

"Well, you asked me 'what?' and I replied - " Greg started.

"Forget it," Sara said cutting him off.

He stepped aside, an evident invitation to pass. Great. Sara glanced down at her watch. One minute and 42 seconds wasted. She could of been at her locker 68 seconds ago.

And today had been going so well. Leave it to Greg to screw everything up.

***

Sara placed her things delicately into her locker. Coat, here. Purse, here. Check and check. Thanks to Greg's annoying interference, she had arrived at her locker 83 seconds late, even after practically sprinting down the hallway.

"Sara. Male DB in the Bellagio fountains. Age seven. Take Greg with you."

She turned to face Grissom. "Fun," she said with a grimace.

Grissom merely smiled.

***

"Can I drive?"

"No. It's my turn."

"When is it my turn?" asked Greg as he hopped into the passenger side of Sara's car.

"When we take your car."

There was no way that Sara was ever going to let Greg drive her car. Besides she knew the precise speed to drive at in order to reach more green lights than red lights. Of course, that wasn't factoring in the traffic, but that was nearly impossible to predict.

"Don't put that there," Sara stated as Greg leaned over to place his cup of coffee into the cup holder.

"Oh-kay," said Greg, sitting back with his cup in his right hand.

"So," started Greg, taking a sip of his coffee, "can we take my car next time?"

"No."

Greg frowned, sticking out his bottom lip.

"When can we take my car?'

"Never."

***

"Can't you go a little bit faster?" asked Greg, peeking over at Sara's speedometer.

"No."

"But it's a 50 zone, and you're only going 47. Can't you atleast reach the speed limit?"

"No."

Greg rolled his eyes at Sara's blunt tone.

"If I go 50 miles per hour, I will reach 8 percent more red traffic lights than if I go 47. So, in the long run, going slower saves time," She explained. "Besides, you're just reckless."

"Well, you're weird, " Greg retorted.

Sara sighed. I know.

"But I love it," he said with a laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed my story! I know I made Sara rather neurotic, but I've always imagined her as secretly obsessive. Anyways, it plays a pivotal role in the story. Read on. :)

***

Sara pulled in front of the Bellagio, shifted her car into park, and turned to Greg.

"See?"

Greg's eyebrow arched, "Huh?"

"We got here faster than if we were going 50 miles per hour."

Greg opened his mouth as if to say something. Closing it again, he simply shook his head.

"What?" asked Sara, confused.

"Never mind. Let's just go."

***

Sara, spotting Brass, headed towards the fountains. 15. 16. 17 steps from her car to the cascading water.

"Sara, Greg," said Brass, nodding first to them than to the corpse of the seven year old at his feet. "Meet Benji Maguire."

The boy's face was serene, he could have been sleeping, if not for the bluish tinge to his skin and his damp, matted hair. The sight made Sara grimace.

"What happened?"

Noting the distress in her voice, Greg gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"The family was on holiday from Oakland, weren't even staying at the Bellagio," Brass explained. "They were across the street at the Travelodge. Kid went missing a couple of hours ago, and a tourist taking photos at the fountains, spotted him about 10:30 pm."

"He was moved," Sara stated.

"Yeah, the guy who found him pulled him out to preform CPR."

Greg nodded, "Thanks Brass."

"Yeah, sure," he said, walking off to interview the parents.

Sara sighed, carefully opened her kit, and bent down to examine the body.

***

"Hmmm…" said Greg wisely, "I would surmise from the evidence, that the child, did indeed, suffocate in Dihydrogen Monoxide. "

"What evidence?" asked Sara. "Do you mean the fact that David was just here, telling us the COD?"

"Sara, Sara, Sara…" Greg said, rolling his eyes.

She ignored him, gently collecting some maroon fibers that were tangled in the knots of the boy's shoelaces. Greg looked at her, and reached into his pocket.

"Here."

Curiously, Sara took the folded scrap of lined paper from Greg's outstretched hand.

"What's this?"

"A sense of humor," Greg replied smugly.

Sara unfolded it, examined the messy handwriting, scrawled across it, and handed it back to him.

"It says 'Call Mom'."

***

Exactly three hours and 42 minutes later, Sara walked into break room, looking for Greg. She spotted him, an apple in one hand, banging his head to the music coming from his headphones. Sitting at a table a few feet behind him, were Nick and Warrick, discussing about their current case. Sara stopped in the doorway, listening to their dispute.

"There is no way that it was the girlfriend, man. She's tiny, how would she have dragged the body from point A to point B?" said Nick.

"Dude, you have a few things to learn about girls. First of all, they're determined. Hey Sara," Warrick interjected. "Second of all, they're resourceful."

"Yeah, but the neighbor, man. That neighbor has had it out for him since he moved in. What's up Sar?" asked Nick, to distracted by his argument with Warrick to wait for an answer.

"Betcha 20 bucks that it's the girl."

Nick grinned, "You're on."

Typical.

Slowly, Sara approached Greg.

"Greg?"

No response.

"Hey Greg," said Sara, a little bit louder this time.

Ignored once again, Sara reached out and pulled the headphones from Greg's ears. Shaken out of his rockstar fantasy, he look around confused.

"Oh. Hi Sara."

"So, I've been thinking about what you said earlier."

"What? About the kid drowning?" asked Greg, taking a bit out of his apple.

"No. About how I have no sense of humor."

Greg shook his head, "Technically, I didn't _say_ that."

"Well, I have a joke," said Sara solemnly.

Greg nearly choked on his apple, "A what?!"

"A joke. Something that causes amusement or laughter. A jest. A witticism."

"I know what a joke is, thanks. What I meant was why do you have one?"

"Because," Sara calmly explained. "I can be amusing."

"Okay," said Greg. "Let's hear it."

"Why do white bears dissolve in water?" asked Sara, grinning.

"I dunno. Why?"

"Because their polar!"

Nick snorted, and Warrick bit his lip to keep from laughing, but Greg just stared at her.

"Well, they found it funny. That has to count for something." said Sara.

"No," replied Warrick. "We're laughing because it's lame."

Greg looked at her blankly, "That wasn't funny."

"Maybe you don't get it," Sara replied. "In chemistry, when a molecule is polar -"

"I get it. It's just isn't much of a witticism."

Sara frowned.

"Face it, Sar," said Greg. "You're just not funny."

"Your mom's not funny," Sara retorted, without thinking.

"Now that," Greg told her with a grin, "was rather amusing."

Sara smiled.

***

Sadly, that joke made me laugh. Review please.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry I haven't updated in months. I wasn't in the mood to write, and then I just totally forgot about it. I just reread this story and it made me feel like I had to write some more. I might even write some more of my other story, Amantes Sunt Amentes - but, I'm not making any promises :P

***

Sara stood over Benji Maguire's clothes, examining them for evidence. She inspected his jeans, inch by inch, searching for fibers, dirt, dna, - anything.

Nothing.

There had been nothing on his shirt either. Or on his shoes. Any trace of evidence was probably at the bottom of the fountains. Sara sighed. She had wasted 57 minutes trying to find a clue. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Dammit.

She felt like she was going nowhere.

***

"Hey Sar!"

Sara looked up at the sound of Greg's voice.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replied with grin, "Find anything?"

"No. The clothes are clean."

"Well, that's more than you can say about mine."

Sara stared at him.

"I'm just kidding," Greg shot back quickly.

Sara smiled, "Sure, Greg."

***

Three. Four. Five. Sara froze in the hallway, and turned to the man beside her.

"Greg!" Sara nearly shouted, realization dawning on her.

Greg put a hand to his heart, feigning shock, "WHAT?"

"You forgot to tell me - did Doc find anything on the vic?"

"Oh, yeah. The kid had some bruises and cuts on him, all about a week old. He probably got into a fight at school," explained Greg absentmindedly.

Sara gasped.

"What?"

"Or his parents…" She trailed off, and turned around.

Six. Seven. Eight.

***

Sara and Greg sat in the interrogation room across from the Maguires. Andrew Maguire nervously tapped his foot. Once. Twice. Three times.

Sara cleared her throat, "Tell me about your relationship with your son."

"I - We…" Lillian Maguire began.

Andrew cut in, "We love Benji, he is our life!"

Lillian choked back a sob. Sara examined her jewelry - four bracelets, two rings.

"So," said Greg calmly, "you'd never hurt him?"

"Are you accusing us of something?" Andrew angrily asked.

"No - "

Sara cut him off. "We found cuts and bruises on his body."

Lillian shook her head. "No," her voice cracked, "he gets bullied at school."

Sara slammed her hand against the table and walked out.

***

Liars.

It took Sara six seconds to get to the door. Grissom stood outside of it, watching through the glass window.

"Sara,"

She breathed in deeply, preparing herself for a lecture.

"Take tomorrow off."

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

Grissom looked at her, "Telling you, as a friend."

"I need to finish this case," said Sara, shaking her head.

"You need a break. Rest, then go out and do something - live a little."

"I can't just leave the case!"

"Greg can handle it," Grissom said with a smile, "and you can come back on Saturday and look at it with a fresh point of view."

Sara bit her lip to keep from arguing. She turned around and walked away.

One. Two. Three.

***

Sara sat at her dining room table with her laptop in front of her, and her wine glass to her left. Every inch of available space, on her small table, was plastered with papers regarding her case.

It was 12:07 am on Friday night.

Sara, who hadn't had a Friday night off in three months and 14 days, didn't know what to do with herself. She was too jittery to sleep, and too reclusive to go out. So she resorted back to work.

She lifted her glass to her lips and swallowed what was left of her wine. 11. It had taken her 11 drinks to get to the bottom of her glass. Next time, Sara decided, she would take smaller sips.

Tapping her fingertips against the wood, Sara carefully examined her notes on the case. Sara was certain the parents were lying. But what was nagging her more, was the fact that the case just didn't make sense. How did the boy end up dead in the Bellagio fountains with no one noticing?

Sara sighed. The Vegas Strip was a tourist trap - and the fountains were no acceptation. People were always there.

So how come there were no witnesses?

Sara stood up in frustration. Maybe she just needed another drink. 12. 13. 14 steps to her kitchen counter. She reached for the bottle - it was half empty. This time Sara didn't bother with a glass. The liquid sloshed around as she slowly raised it to her lips.

Sara breathed out a sigh of content. She placed the bottle down and walked out of the kitchen.

***


End file.
